Club Vietato ( Club Forbidden ): Club Forbidden, #2

By DB Canavan

Abbigail has no idea what is about to blow into her life.  
She is caught between something much more deadly than the FBI and the Sicilian Mafia.  
Will she survive?
Will Lucas and Vincent be able to protect her from their lives?

 

The story continues!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Floppyeared Books LLC
• Release date: Sep 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9781734392272

DB Canavan

DB Canavan was born and raised in the Midwest. She is a Best Selling Independent Author. Her whole life, people told her she should write a book, so in 2013 she independently published her first eBook.  She has published in many genres, not limited to, Childrens Books, Fantasy, Science Fiction, and Contermporary Romance.

Book preview

Chapter One

ABBIGAIL

A COLD, HOSTILE SILENCE slithers through the room.  The two men stand in silence and stare at each other. 

Suddenly a painfully raw, stunned realization floods Vince’s face and he turns white.  He’s staring at Lucas, almost as if he’s looking at a ghost.

Would someone please tell me what the fuck is going on here?  My vocal cords sting as I furiously scream at the top of my lungs.

Fine. I’ll tell her the truth.  Abbigail Summers, meet Vincent Giovanni De Santis.  Lucas’s voice is laced with malice.

Beside me, I feel Vince stiffen. 

Vincent—De Santis?  De Santis?  De Santis.  De Santis!  Crime family De Santis.  Suddenly my mind spins out of control.  The name ‘Vincent De Santis’ starts violently whipping around in my head, battering my brain ruthlessly.  Pushing myself back and out of his arms, "fucking hell.  Vincent De Santis.  The De Santis, of the De Santis crime family?"  I keep stepping backwards, trying to put as much distance between him and me as possible.

Bella, wait. It’s not what you’re thinking.  He takes a step toward me, reaching out his hand.

Stop.  Stay where you are.  I back up a little too quickly and almost fall over a chair.

I watch the warmth in Vincent’s beautiful brown eyes evaporate as his eyes turn stone cold.  The eyes that fall upon Lucas are void of life and filled with revenge.  Fuck you, Luca.

Luca?  The confusion in my voice is hidden within my whisper.

I stand there and watch Lucas’s face go white but not from fear—from recognition?

"Yes, you didn’t think I recognized you, fratello.  Vincent’s voice is as cold and taunting as his eyes.  I’ve been looking for you for over twenty years."  There’s a desperate, almost childlike ghost of longing that abruptly flashes through Vincent’s eyes, then vanishes in a millisecond.

Gripping onto the chair, What the hell?  Why did he call you Luca?

Vincent’s eyes snap to mine.  A slow grin creeps across his lips.  Then he turns back to Lucas.  "Let me return the favor, brother.  Abbigail, meet my brother, Luca De Santis."  Vincent’s voice is dripping with payback—revenge.

No, his last name is Sanctus, not De Santis.  Deep down I know what the truth is. I’ve known all along. I’ve just been too blind to see it.

An evil laughter rolls from Vincent’s lips, Sanctus.  Really, Luca?  You and Mama chose the English translation of De Santis.  How fucking unoriginal.

Lucas? Luca? You’re a De Santis too?  You knew you were a De Santis too!  My seething scream echoes off the walls, filling the room with the betrayal I feel.

All of a sudden, the acrimonious pieces of reality fall into place.  Both of these men knew they were members of the De Santis crime family and they both chose to lie to me about it.  But why?  I mean other than the fact that it’s the De Santis crime family, but that’s no big secret.  What would they have to gain by lying to me about who they were?  Then it hits me like a ton of bricks. 

Information.  My insides harden.

They both wanted to get close to me for information.  I had information on the Senator, whom both men wanted to know about.  I had information on the De Santis crime family which Lucas, I mean Luca, would find valuable.  But what would Vincent have to gain?

Why?  I turn and look at Vincent.  Why did you lie to me?  God, I hate my voice, it’s small, hurt and weak.  I feel the tears welling in the back of my eyes.  Fuck.

Running his hands through his hair, I didn’t think you’d have anything to do with me if you knew I was a De Santis.

And you wanted information on Senator Reynolds.  Seems Reynolds and the Calabrese’s have been running arms together.  Throwing me a knowing look, Lucas’s voice is laced with disgust.  The De Santis’s want a piece of the action. Hell, you hate the Calabrese’s, you want their whole deal, Lucas, Luca, hisses.

Basta!  Vincent’s voice thunders through the room.

Luca starts toward me, reaching a hand in my direction; Abby.

FUCKING STOP!  He snaps to a halt.  You both fucking had something to gain by screwing me.

Hey, I NEVER SCREWED YOU, Luca thunders.

You would have if I had let you.  In your business what am I known as—a pawn?  Well, I’m nobody’s fucking pawn.  Turning to Vincent, and you.  In your world, I’m no better than those blonde bimbos that were hanging on your arms.  I’m not a fucking whore, either.

Basta!  You are no whore.  His eyes soften, searching mine for confirmation.  Abbigail, I never treated you like a whore.

Then why do I fucking feel like one?  I should have known the two of you were brothers. You’re both the same.  Pointing at Luca, you hide your badge behind this club, use it as a front just like the Mob.  Turning to Vincent, "and you.  Well, you are the fucking Mob.  Jesus Christ!  God help me."  I stop and catch my breath as my eyes dart around the room.  I have to get out of here.  I have to get away from both of these men.  I have to get out of here.

Bella!

Abbigail!

Both men move in my direction.

Fucking STOP!  Both of you stay the fuck away from me. 

Bolting for the door, I throw it open and run down the stairs as fast as my dress and heels will allow me to.  As I hit the bottom of the stairs, I can hear the two brothers screaming at each other.  Looking through the crowd I see Mark, Ethan and Jacob’s eyes snap to me, the upstairs office door, and back to me.  I bolt for the door, dodging all of them.  Grabbing my purse off our table, I fly out the door and into a waiting cab.

Where to, miss?  The driver’s voice pierces through my hysteria.

DRIVE! I shout. 

GO!

NOW!

I drop back into the seat as the cab thrusts forward.  My brain unconsciously registers the pain inflicted by the stone hard seat.  I’m not sure what the hell this seat is made of but it’s my back that flexes and gives, not the seat.

Immediately my phone starts to ring like a slot machine that’s about to spit out a jackpot.  Looking at the screen—Vincent.  I no sooner hit ‘decline’, than my phone goes off again—Lucas.  Fucking hell.  Hitting ‘decline’, I play this game for a few more calls and then silence my phone.

There’s a numbing silence that overtakes the backseat, muting the outside noise, bringing it down to a harsh ‘white noise’ like hiss.  Shit, I feel like the rug’s been pulled out from under me and I’ve landed flat on my back.  I can’t seem to catch my breath.

Ma’am?  Where to, ma’am?  The driver’s gravelly voice breaks through the vacuum of silence surrounding me.

My eyes slowly make their way toward the rearview mirror, coming to rest on a pair of concerned hazel eyes.

You okay, ma’am?  His bushy brows drop into a concerned frown.  Where can I take you?  His eyes flicker between the road and my face.

My mind is on autopilot as I numbly mumble my address in Creve Core, on the outskirts of St Louis.

Sure thing, ma’am.  Tapping the steering wheel with his thumbs, keeping time with Set Fire to The Rain by Adele.  Looks like rain tonight, ma’am, but I should have you safely home before it starts.

But there’s a side to you that I never knew, never knew

All the things you’d say, they were never true, never true

And the games you’d play, you would always win, always win

But I set fire to the rain

Watched it pour as I touched your face

Let it burn while I cry...

How freaking appropriate. Nodding my confirmation to the driver, I gaze out the window, lost in my thoughts as the gravity of the situation hits me.  Shit I’m in the middle.  I’m in the middle of the St. Louis Police Department and the Sicilian Mafia.  How the hell did that happen?  Then the second mental bomb explodes, sending shockwaves raging through my brain. I’m in the middle of something much more deadly than the cops and the Mob—I’m in the middle of brothers.

The low rumble of the driver’s voice once again penetrates my self-induced vacuum, I’m sorry, sir, what was that?  I again meet his concerned eyes in the rearview mirror.

I watch as his eyebrows rise and then fall into a furrow of worry.  Rain.  There’s a storm brewing.  He points at the large thunderhead through the front windshield, as if on cue a faint flash of lighting erupts in the distance.  You sure you’re okay, ma’am?

Yeah, I’m fine. Just been a night—if you know what I mean. 

How ironic, eyeing the approaching thunderhead—there’s a storm brewing alright, a different kind of storm and it’s about to crash into my life.

My eyes slowly roam the thunderhead rolling toward the St. Louis metro area, I have about an hour head start.  I know both Lucas and Vince, or I should call them Luca and Vincent, will be close on my heels.  I don’t want to talk to either of them right now—I need a plan.  Searching the landscape as the cab whisks me toward my condo, from the looks of it I have about five or six more minutes to hatch this plain before I reach home. 

My eyes instinctively squint as a flash of lightening illuminates the impressive thunderhead.  It really is a thing of beauty and power.  Tiny threads of lighting dance between the clouds, weaving their spider webs of light, when out of nowhere it shows its power by throwing a massive bolt of lightning streaking to the ground.  Yeah, Mother Nature is pissed and she’s about to unleash her fury—I can relate.

I need somewhere to go where I can think, somewhere where no one can find me.  I need to disappear.  Then it hits me, hell, I help women disappear from their abusers all the time.  Digging through my purse, my fingers roam from object to object until they find a familiar form.  Pulling my phone out and thumbing through my contacts—Theresa.  Hitting ‘send’ my eyes are transfixed on the thunderhead, watching as the flashes of lightning creep closer and closer.  A thick white lightning bolt streaks downward towards its target, this time creating a rumble in the distance. 

Abbigail?  Theresa’s familiar voice pulls me back to reality.

Hey, I need your help, I whisper low.

Always.  The usual?

Yeah, but this time...  My voice trails off, stifling a sob.

Shit, Abby, what’s wrong?  You okay?  Concern floods her voice.

I take a few seconds to get my composure back, Yeah, I’m okay.  I need the usual set up—but this time it’s for me.

Fuck!  Did he find you?  I can hear the panic etched in her vocal cords.

No, not him.  A shiver runs up my spine.  Squeezing my eyes shut, thank God he hasn’t found me.  No, I just need to fall off the face of the earth for a while.

Done.  When?  Her voice is firm and reassuring.

Now?  I’ll be there with in the hour.  I’m so sorry...  The latter comes out a whispered sob.

Theresa’s voice cuts me off, Don’t, Abbigail.  Do.  Not.  Apologize—not to me.  I owe you everything.  Hell, dozens of women owe you.  I hear the clicking of computer keys on the other end of the phone, you can have anything you need, for as long you need it.  You know the drill.  I’ll make the arrangements.

I wipe at the stray tears that have managed to escape my eyes.  Thanks, Theresa, I’ll drop you a text as I arrive.  I try my damnedest to stuff my emotions away.

What kind of car?  Her voice is kind but all business.

A black Audi, Q5, four-wheel drive.

Okay.  Hang in there, Abby, you have friends who love you.

The line goes dead.  Hitting ‘end’ I let the phone slip from my fingers, falling comfortably back into my purse.  Air rushes into my lungs, finally, the breath I’ve been depriving myself of since I left the party. 

As we pull into my driveway, here ya go, ma’am, safe and sound.  I hear the smile in the driver’s warm voice.

Slipping from the cab, I reach into my purse, grabbing the only form of insurance I have to offer the driver.

That’ll be...  The driver leans forward, reading the meter mounted on his front dash, thirty-two dollars and fifty-five cents, ma’am.  Hell, make it thirty dollars even, sounds like you’ve had a bad night.  His face softens with understanding.

Rummaging through my wallet, I grab a fifty and two-hundred-dollar bills.  This should be enough insurance to buy his memory.  Rolling the bills in my fingers, folding them separately into nice, neat slivers of paper.  Here—keep the change.  I smile warmly and squeeze his hand.

The driver takes the bills from my fingers.  I watch as his eyes go wide with astonishment and shock.  Ma’am, I think you’ve made a mistake.  You gave me hundreds not twenties.  Thrusting the bills back toward my hand.

Softly I fold his fingers around the bills, No—no mistake.  You don’t remember me, where you took me—etcetera.  I wave my hand mindlessly in the air.  You know how boyfriends can be.  Rolling my eyes toward the heavens, if he only knew the truth of the matter.

Grinning a knowing smile, Yeah, my daughter has the same problem, but she can hide behind me and my shotgun.  Stuffing the bills in his pocket, consider me your shot gun, ma’am.

Chuckling softly, Your daughter is one lucky lady.  I pat his arm softly.

Anything else I can do for you?  The man smiles brightly, showing off a crooked but white smile.

Naw, thanks.  Have a great night.  Be safe.  I wave as I back away from the cab.

Night, ma’am.  He thumps his hand on the outside of his door.

I watch as his taillights shrink and flicker in the distance.  Opening my front door, I know exactly what I need to do and the time I have to do it in. 

Walking through the front door, I make my way to the bedroom.  Reaching into my closet I grab the pre-packed suitcase that is always ready and waiting.  Unzipping the front pocket, I double check to make sure the extra cash and credit cards are still there—they are.  Opening my bedside drawer, I reach in and grab my gun and the two extra clips I have stashed under my prayer book.  Sliding the gun silently into the suitcase, my gaze happens back upon my prayer book.  Reverently my eyes roam the beautiful face of the Virgin Mary, coming to rest on her eyes.  In that split second, I grab the prayer book and slide it in with the gun.  The absurdity doesn’t escape me, a gun and a prayer book, oh well.  Sliding the zipper shut, I roll the bag toward the living room, stopping to check my answering machine.  Eleven messages; rolling my eyes, I can take two guesses who those are from, and I’d be right on both accounts.  I deliberately don’t play them. I don’t want to tip them off that I’ve been here.  Grabbing my briefcase and purse, checking to make sure I have my computer packed, I grab my keys.  That’s it for now. 

Striding toward the back of my condo, suitcase trailing behind, I open the door to the garage.  Flipping on the lights, my eyes roam my bright red Mustang and shiny BMW, grinning, Yeah, girls have toys too.  Walking around my two cars, I make my way toward a brand-new Audi Q5 still sporting dealer plates.  Betty, a close friend and former battered wife, now owns a car dealership.  She makes sure I have an extra untraceable vehicle, with dealer plates, in case of emergency.  Hell, if I had a nickel for every battered individual that drove one of Betty’s loaners, I’d be independently wealthy.  Popping the back tailgate, I slide my suitcase and briefcase in.  Locking the door to the house, I set the alarm and slide into the vehicle. 

Hitting the garage opener, I hold my breath and watch through the rearview mirror, hoping that I’ve had enough of a head start.  The air rushes from my lungs and my shoulders relax as I discover the coast is clear.  Backing out and pausing, I sit silently and watch the garage door slide smoothly to a stop.  I reach for my cell, powering it down, popping the battery and SIM card out.  Well, that’s the final signal that leaves my position at my condo.

Stepping on the gas I pull out and head toward my solace.  Pulling onto Highway 70 West, I flip on the radio, anything to distract me from my thoughts.  I just have to make it into the hotel room and then I can let go.  All of Me by John Legend, starts to filter through the car, good God.  I’ve always hated mushy love songs, now I hate them even more. 

Night is in full swing and by the continual rumbles of thunder radiating through the car windows, the thunderhead is almost upon the city. 

As I approach downtown St. Louis, I see the silver glow of the arch piercing the night like a beacon.  I remember the first time I drove into downtown St. Louis, the second I spotted the arch, I was mesmerized.  I’d always loved big cities.  You make it in a big city, you can make it anywhere.  No, that arch was something special to me.  It was my personal badge of honor, a testament to my will to survive.  I might have been beaten and down when I arrived in St. Louis, but I picked myself up and made something out of myself.  Scoffing out loud, Well, this time isn’t going to be any different.  I will allow myself tonight to fall apart but starting tomorrow I get my shit together.  I’ve always been an ‘ace in the hole’ kind of girl, it’s saved my ass in the past and I have a feeling this time isn’t going to be any different.  Lightning flashes violently overhead, yeah, there’s a storm rolling into my life and I’m damn well going to arm myself with all the information I can. 

Earlier today I contacted a friend and asked him about the encrypted files.  I told him they were classified, he just assumed they were for the Senator’s case.  He didn’t want to get involved with government documents, so he sent me his encryption program, allowing me to unencrypt the files myself.  I just thought it best to let him believe they were for the Senator’s case, that way if anyone noses around, he’s in the clear. 

Yes, I was going to fall apart tonight, drink myself silly but in the morning the work began.  I had files to read and research to do.  I wasn’t leaving the hotel until I was fully armed to deal with the De Santis, the Senator, the Calabrese’s and anything else this fucked up situation threw my way.

When I started helping abused men and women I never in my wildest imagination thought it would turn into the network it has.  The people I’ve helped over the years were from all walks of life, abuse doesn’t discriminate.  The more people I helped the more they and their family and friends wanted to give back and help me to help others.  That’s why Betty makes sure I have a brand-new dealer car every month.  It allows the abuse victim to travel to their safe place undetected.  Theresa, the general manager and co-owner of the Ritz-Carlton in St. Louis, always provides a room for whomever I’m helping.  She always handles the arrangements herself.  When I ask her how she always manages to have a room available, she simply states, ‘the room is booked for her in case she needs to stay for work related emergencies.  She always has a clean room, soft bed and warm food for whoever needs it.  Theresa even makes sure there’s toys for the kids, clothes for all those involved and most importantly a safe place to sleep.

Watching the taillights flicker their own form of Morse Code, I remember the day Theresa came to me for help.  She had four children and nothing except the clothes on her back.  I paid for everything out of my own pocket.  I helped her get back on her feet and most importantly I put her bastard husband behind bars for a very long time.  Grinning to myself, look at her now.  Theresa’s one of the wealthiest women in St Louis.  She’s self-made, has a healthy relationship with a wonderful man and I believe she just became a grandmother.  A sense of pride zips through my system, I helped her, and she did the rest.  Now she was going to help me. 

Shaking my head, somehow, I managed to fall for two of the worst people I could fall for.  Lucas and Vincent De Santis, they both could ruin my career.  I’ve worked tirelessly to build my career and they could blow it to hell in a matter of seconds.  No, I was not going to allow that to happen.  Not now, not ever. 

I knew the De Santis’s and their reputation.  I knew better than to screw with the Mob, except I didn’t think I was screwing the Mob.  The Senator, I knew only too well what the government was all about.  I was a ‘nobody’ against the Senator and his power.  He could get me disbarred or worse.  And Lucas—I don’t know, my gut says there’s more to him than just a simple detective working for the St. Louis Police Department.  You don’t just walk away from the Mob, come to American, disappear and ‘presto change-o’ start a brand-new life.  No, deals were made, and I’m bound and determined to find out what they were and with whom.  I don’t care how long it takes.

As I turn onto Bonhomme Street, I fish through my bag for my private cell. This cell has saved me numerous times.  No one knows I have it except Jamie and Theresa.  They both know that it’s an emergency phone and only used when shit is serious.  They know that when I use this phone, I’m no longer Abbigail Summers, attorney, but Cindy Blair, anonymous person. 

I trust Jamie implicitly.  Frowning, anger begins to percolate and build as a dark thought crosses my mind.  Thank God Jessy doesn’t have the number.  I can’t help wondering if she knew about Lucas?  Shit, she had to, she’s dating his best friend and business partner.  Surely Jacob knew about Lucas’s past.  Yeah, this was one time I was glad my friends were at a distance. 

Hitting the WiFi button I sync my phone to the car, Call Theresa.  Suddenly the music in the vehicle fades and is replaced by the ringing of a phone.  Theresa here.

A warm voice seeps through the speakers.

Hi, it’s me, I just turned onto Bonhomme.  Slowly, large, oversized rain drops, one by one, mingle with the red taillights ahead, splattering their tie-dye like patterns on the windshield.

Go to the private garage level, access code 492.  Far end, I’ll meet you there.

See you in two.  Hanging up, I feel the emotions in my chest bubble and swirl, clawing against the walls of protection I’ve erected.  Tamping them down, I just have to make it to my hotel room.

Turning into the parking garage I patiently wait for the arm to rise after pulling the little white ticket from the slot.  Pointing the Audi toward the solace that awaits me on the lower level, my emotions get stronger and stronger with every left turn I take.  Finally entering the private garage area, I drive toward the rear, where I spot Theresa stepping from the private elevator. Pulling into a spot and stepping out, I’m greeted with a warm hug.

What’s up, hon?  Her voice is warm and soothing.  Looking her in the face, I can see the concern written deeply in her eyes.

Nothing.  I feel the tears start to pool at the back of my eyes.

"Yeah, right.  I’m here to help you, Abby, but you have to be honest with me, so I don’t get blindsided.  You know how this works."  She holds me firmly at arm’s length by both shoulders.

Letting out a huge sigh, I know.  I just—I can’t believe I was so stupid.  A soft sob escapes my throat.  Damn, I didn’t want to do this here.

Pulling me in for a hug.  It’s okay, Abby.  I’ll get you to your room and you can fill me in on the details.  I stocked the bar for you, Jack Daniels and Coke, right?

Looking at her unapologetically, I blink away my tears and laugh, for this situation, I’m thinking just the Jack Daniels.

Oh my.  A sly grin creeps across her face.  I’d better have them bring us another bottle then.  She throws me a wink as she slings my briefcase over her shoulder.

Climbing into the elevator, everything is going to be alright.  I just need a few days to get my head on straight and my legs back under me.

I watch as she slides the card key into the little slot and pushes ‘Presidential Suite’.

What the hell, Theresa, I don’t need your best suite.  My high squeaky voice reverberates off the walls of the elevator.

Oh my dear, after all the help you’ve given to so many women, it’s the least I can do.

☣☣☣☣☣☣

POURING MYSELF ANOTHER Jack Daniels with very little Coke, Theresa left about an hour ago.  She checked me into the hotel under my anonymous name, Cindy Blair, just as she would any other woman who needed help.  No one except her and I know the truth.  To the front desk and anyone else, I’m Cindy Blair.

Slowly turning in a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree circle, I admire the Presidential Penthouse suite, it’s absolutely stunning.  The overall color scheme is neutral creams, dark browns and tans, extenuated by strategically placed splashes of color.  The silk drapes, elegantly hanging over each window, are a beautiful rich cocoa brown with matching valances. 

Wandering from the living room into the dining room, yes the suite actually has a dining room with a large oak table that seats eight.  Christ, who actually needs all this space?  Flashes of lightening shimmer and dance playfully through the crystal chandelier that is centered above the dining room table, it’s all just breathtaking.  I wonder if Theresa would mind if I moved in permanently. 

Sipping my drink, I turn back to take in the living room.  Situated against the far wall is a beautiful rock and sandstone fireplace with an enormous, big screen TV hanging above its mantel.  Strategically placed throughout the room are cocoa and light brown over-stuffed couches and chairs, all facing the fireplace and TV.  Adjacent to the fireplace, set back in the corner is a fully stocked wet bar with every imaginable shape of glass you’d ever want to drink out of.  Downing the rest of my